Always Around

Chapter Four.2

As we opened the door to our destination, we were welcomed by mic tests as a person preps for his open mic number. A tall man wearing a black cap and puffy green jacket stood on the small stage, with a single dynamic microphone on an over-extended stand. As we found our seats in the warm-lit cafe with wood carvings and abstract paintings all around, the man started to speak.

"Good evening. Please forgive me if my performance will be lacking. I am not a professional speaker," the man said. The crowd replied with nothing but encouragement. "Don't sweat it!", "You're doing great!", "You're gonna crush it!"

This is what I love about open mic nights. Granted, there will always be jerks who take advantage of these kinds of moments, but most people in these communities are supportive and kind-hearted, sometimes even to those who do not deserve it.

The man thanked the crowd, and I felt as though I know him... if only I could see his face from where I was sitting.

"I'm going to recite Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "How Do I Love Thee."

He began.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."

I love this sonnet. It's one of the first literature pieces I adored growing up. It explores the kind of love that the writer tried to measure physically but couldn't.

"I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight"

The kind that they could feel even at the most uneventful points of a day.

"I love thee to the level of every day's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light."

The kind that the writer noted as something that will endure even after they leave the earth.

"Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death."

From what I can understand, it seems like the kind of love that Madam Browning chose and fought for. It boggles my mind, and I long to see this kind of love in practice. It seems like the total opposite of the love my mother had for my father.

I was at the edge of my seat as the man finished the sonnet, and I was mouthing the words with him. It was beautiful.

As the room showered the man with applause, I fought the urge to go to him as he went down the stage. I watched as he repeatedly bowed to the crowd and slowly made his way to a table near the kitchen. I really felt like I know him, and wanted to make sure, but it would be rude to leave Drew alone.

As I managed to control my impulse and sat back down, I noticed Drew staring at me. I widened my eyes at him as a way to weird him out even more, and he answered with a laugh and a french fry to my face. We stayed in the cafe for hours just enjoying the amateur performances and the community it built. Before we knew it, it was time to go home.

It's now around midnight, and we had Drew's driver pick us up instead of taking the bus. We sat waiting at a bench outside the cafe, silent but happy with the time we spent together. My head was resting on Drew's shoulder and his head was resting on my head.

I still couldn't take my mind off the Sonnet guy. I was so enthralled by his reading. Maybe it's just because of the vibe in the room, or maybe it just happened to be the first time I heard that poem read aloud. Either way, I really enjoyed his performance, and I hoped I'll get to hear him read again.

"Rox," Drew slurred, sounding sleepy.

"Yeah?"

"You're vibrating."

It was only then that I realized my phone's on vibrate mode and it was, in fact, buzzing. I hurriedly answered it.

"Hello, Papa?"

"Bunso, come home."

"We're just waiting for Drew's car, Papa. We're on our way."

"Please hurry. Mama's here."

I felt Drew straightening from his slouched position and pushing his ear next to mine.

"Ma... Mama?? What's she doing there? And why are you calling her Mama?"

Papa sighed. "She's staying for the night."

"Pa, I don't think you'd want that. She was trying to take us earlier today. She was trying to bribe us, guilt us, even... to go with her."

"I know."

"No, I don't think you know. Papa. She said we're burdens to you! She was that desperate to get us away from you!"

"Bunso, she said those things because I told her to."

What? What was he saying?

"Haha, Papa, you did not. Shut up, it's not funny."

"I did. I told her to use my condition to convince you."

I felt a cold chill run down my spine. I couldn't talk for a beat.

Two single streaks of warmth ran down my cheeks, and it snapped me back to reality. I so regret asking what I asked next.

"So you're saying we should go with her?"

"Yes."

The few seconds after that was kind of a blur to me. I think my phone fell from my hand, and Drew was holding both my shoulders to keep me still. I remember a strained feeling on my eyelids and fists and jaw and scratching on my arms. I remember Drew shouting at me. "Rox! Snap out of it! I'm here! I'm here!"

But I wasn't there with him. For a while, I wasn't.

I was in the future, five years ahead, in a house with a neglectful mother. With an overworked, unhappy, older brother.

Then, standing on the grave of my late depressed father.

Drew picked up my phone, and here's all I could hear.

"Hello? Bro? Yeah, she's here."

"What? Take her where?"

"What about Tito Kael?"

"Alright, I'll take her out of the city."

"I'll call you."